<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>and sometimes we simply march on by Interjection</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29810847">and sometimes we simply march on</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interjection/pseuds/Interjection'>Interjection</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the road not taken [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>#MAKE DREAM HOMELESS AGAIN, 5+1 Things, Actually a little bit of comfort, BEAT THE GREEN BOI UPPP, BECAUSE REVENGE FOR TOMMYINNIT, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, PLEASE SHOW SOME EMOTION, TOMMY LITERALLY GOT BEATEN TO DEATH BY DREAM PEOPLE, Violence, YEAH YOU GO WILBUR, aka BRUH everyone's even more heartless than I realized, and that's a low fucking bar like</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:42:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,933</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29810847</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interjection/pseuds/Interjection</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy was dead. Dead as Wilbur, as the dirt beneath him, as everyone’s hopes and dreams on this wretched world.</p><p>Tommy was <i>dead.</i></p><p>
<br/></p><p>
  <i>Why was it so hard to process?</i>
</p><p>-</p><p>5 people who accepted Tommy’s death with a shrug, and the 1 person who refused to let it go.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Jack Manifold &amp; TommyInnit, Sam | Awsamdude &amp; TommyInnit, TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the road not taken [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2203440</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>652</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Completed stories I've read, Found family to make me feel something, Other Fanfoms, Purrsonal Picks</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>and sometimes we simply march on</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Dream</b>
</p><p> </p><p>He’s killed Tommy. Somehow, the thought doesn’t register until the lava parts to reveal Sam at the edge, eyes so wide and white with terror that Dream thinks they might pop out of their sockets. </p><p>Hah, that would be funny. Anything new is funny around here, occurrences from which he can derive entertainment. Including Tommy's death!</p><p>Hm, no, wait. Tommy provided more entertainment when he was alive.</p><p>“What the fuck did you do?” Sam whispers, He’s in front of Dream now. When did that happen?</p><p>Before his imprisonment, Dream would have chided himself for getting rusty. But such a slippage has become beneficial for an environment like this, with nothing but a ticking clock to pass the time with him.</p><p>“He was getting on my nerves,” he snorts, because what else was he supposed to say? Once upon a time some manipulation would have traced Dream’s tongue, but if he had been in that mindset he wouldn’t have killed Tommy in the first place. </p><p>“He’s a child,” Sam says. His image wavers like a mirage, dark and hazy. “He didn’t deserve this. He was - <em> he was getting better. </em>”</p><p>A broken sort of noise escapes from his mouth. Dream grins up, face bare and eyes glittering and everything so exposed, and for once he’s not scared of the fact.</p><p>“And I’m supposed to care?” he laughs. “The idiot should have known better than to continue being nothing but a nuisance. Clearly, he wasn’t getting better enough.”</p><p>“But - but <em> why? </em>”</p><p>Drema doesn’t answer. For a moment he thinks Sam might pull out his sword and run him through right then and there - but then he kneels down, and Tommy’s body shifts, and he watches Sam carry that bloody sack of thin muscles and shattered bones onto the platform in silence. </p><p>Limp fingers drag across the obsidian, tracing every bump, the occasional pool of tears soaking into the paling skin. It’s funny, Dream decides. If there is one place to shed tears for Tommy, it would be here.</p><p>After all, he is the person who will miss him the most. <em> No one </em> had put anywhere near as much effort into the child as Dream had. Not Wilbur, not Phil, not Tubbo. When Tommy needed someone, it was <em> Dream </em> who came for him.</p><p>And like a moon around a world, Tommy learned to gravitate back. Why else had he kept visiting?</p><p>Even when plans fail, contingencies will rise. He is a being of preparation, after all.</p><p>Dream spits out a mouthful of blood. Tommy had gotten in a few good punches himself. </p><p>Not that he particularly cares, since the pain is also something new. But the novelty is dulling already and that’s mildly annoying. </p><p>Oh, there’s a potato in his hand. It’s smeared in blood and probably a good few tears as well. One side is smushed into a grainy pulp, texture like the surface of skin charred black beyond healing. Dream hopes Sam discovers a few bits of that potato in Tommy’s eye sockets. That would be funny, too.</p><p>
  <em> “But - why?” </em>
</p><p>Hah. Haha. Hilarious question. <em> Why. </em></p><p>“Why not,” Dream says aloud to the thick, heavy heat. “He was an annoying little bitch, that’s why.”</p><p>Well, that’s not quite true, similar to most things he says. </p><p>If Dream had to be truthful, he would be speechless. And now the silence in settling into his cell once more. </p><p>The cat’s dead body, gray and tabby and limbs twisted beyond recognition, was thrown near the lava sometime amidst the chaos. Its fur is now smoldering with the telltale sign of catching fire, embers staking claim on the fresh new ground.</p><p>As the red drips around him, Dream watches fire flare across the fur. The smell of smoldering flesh wafts up in a slow crescendo, permeating with the iron tang in his mouth. It’s almost spicy in taste, he decides.</p><p>Hm. Tommy is gone. <em> Tommy is dead.  </em></p><p>The idea creeps up on him in a lull, like the ocean tides sliding over a silent beach.</p><p>
  <em> He killed Tommy. </em>
</p><p>There’s always the resurrection book, but that’s - well, Tommy wasn’t too wrong in his prediction. Even Dream’s not quite sure how to make use of the thing, and if he doesn’t then no one does. So functionally, it’s just a useless book. </p><p>Useless, like Tommy’s dead body, which Sam is probably presenting to Tubbo right about now.</p><p>Unbidden, another giggle escapes Dream. He hopes Tubbo has just as much fun with Tommy’s death as he did. </p><p>Ah, the silence. It’s back. A Tommyless world. </p><p>But there was a reason Dream had refused to kill Tommy then, why he had allowed himself to be carted into this prison. Tommy was too entertaining - but also too <em> important </em> to kill. </p><p><em> Attachments. </em>He wants to giggle again, but his throat is too raw for that now. When did that become the case?</p><p>...no matter. Instead, Dream settles for a lazy smile. </p><p>Tommy was his biggest attachment - his biggest weakness. But he was a <em> useful </em> attachment.</p><p>At least, until Dream got thrown in this cell. At that moment, TommyInnit became <em> useless.  </em></p><p>Oh, everyone will be so <em> deliciously </em> mad. Dream’s smile grows wider.</p><p>Just as with everything else, Tommy was a means to an end. And soon, that end will be accomplished. </p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>Quackity </b>
</p><p> </p><p>"So... he's <em> dead </em>dead," Quackity says, like if he repeats it enough the words will finally string themselves together into some semblance of sense. </p><p>"Yeah." Jack looks vaguely irritated now, taking small steps back and glancing around with an almost furtive nervousness.</p><p>Quackity wants to roll his eyes. Like there is anything to hide around here.</p><p>Besides the fact that Tommy's dead, apparently. </p><p>Oh, right. <em> That.  </em></p><p>"Damn," he whispers softly. "Fucking damn."</p><p>The image of pale blue eyes, crying and broken in the moonlight, flashes into his mind. Tommy had been so sure he would die during Doomsday, hadn’t he? </p><p>The thought haunts Quackity now, not in any deep, soul crushing way, but with an uncomfortableness that holds him to some accountability. </p><p>He had never been particularly attached to Tommy, of course, considering him little more than a child who was far too obsessed with his discs, and caused half the conflicts on the server, whether by his own fault or not. Quackity can admit that much.</p><p>But he was still... a <em> child, </em> and he had been getting better. More - well, not mature, per se, but less difficult. </p><p>He had <em> won. </em>Against Dream.</p><p><em> Apparently not, </em>Quackity thinks, and isn't that just a chilling thought? That the corpse of Dream’s defeat could claw itself back out the grave for the most opportune moment to strike at Tommy’s victory, sink its serrated claws into his throat and suffocate him 6 feet under. </p><p>What does that mean for the rest of them? That Dream’s defeat was merely a delusion, that they were all fools for thinking it’s so easy? </p><p>Quackity’s stomach churns with indignation at the idea of their victory being <em> easy - </em> but there was no fighting in the end, was there? No casualties besides Dream, no grand explosions or secret traitors. In fact, once they had all shown up, placing Dream in the prison became laughably easy. And they <em> had </em> laughed.</p><p>Too soon, if Tommy’s death is any indication.</p><p>
  <em> Oh. </em>
</p><p>“Oh shit,” Quackity breathes. How could they have been so stupid?</p><p>“What?” Jack Manifold shifts - too suspiciously, now that he thinks about it. Eyes dark with more hidden secrets, fingers twisting around themselves. For a hidden dagger? Some disguised signal?</p><p>Quackity leaps up, too quickly. He has to train his instincts again.</p><p>“Nothing important,” he lies. “Just forgot something.”</p><p>And with a quick draw of the trident, he’s flying away. </p><p><em> How could they have all been so stupid? </em> Or is it just him? </p><p>No, that can’t be. Quackity misses cues, sometimes, but he can name far more people around here with even less brain cells.</p><p>Dream had probably planned his prison sentence. Or at the very least, getting thrown in his own jail was a back-up plan of his if Punz ever betrayed him. Because come on, that man is a mastermind of manipulation, how could he <em> not </em> have foreseen Punz being bought over? He had even <em> designed </em>the prison himself, how much more obvious do things get than that?</p><p>What is it called - a Xanatos gambit? When every possible outcome has a net positive for the orchestrator? Of course Dream knows Tommy wouldn’t be able to resist coming back to him. And of course he knows just the right ways to trap them together in that tiny little cell, how to pull a few wires and send the whole system crashing down. </p><p>And then, there would be the source of all his problems - unarmed, tiny, and terrified, a blithering mess just waiting to be ended. And so Dream had ended him, exactly how he planned to. </p><p><em> “Fuck,” </em> Quackity swore again, landing down. A boom of thunder agreed in the distance. <em> “Fuck fuck fuck-” </em></p><p>Dream has a plan to break out. He’s got to, he’s gotten rid of his biggest problem now. And with how much Quackity has been pushing the anti-Dream rhetoric for the past few months… well - that makes <em> himself </em> a target. </p><p>And no, absolutely not, he is <em> not </em> ending up on the short end of Dream’s carroted stick. He can’t, he <em> fucking refuses. </em></p><p>And Quackity can’t trust anyone, he realizes. Someone had to have helped Dream with that prison malfunction, unless he had set an automated system to go off when it did. But then, why would he wait that long if that was the case? Why not when Tommy visited the first few times?</p><p>So who’s on Dream’s side? What other plans have the server never uncovered, that still lay ticking below the surface of the truth, that are just <em> waiting </em> for the right opportunity to be set into motion?</p><p>There’s so much Quackity doesn’t know. And that’s the biggest fucking problem of all. </p><p><em> So prepare, </em> he tells himself. <em> Never be caught off guard like this again. </em> </p><p>What does he need? Weapons, armor, potions, the usual. Information as well, and alliances - how little can he get away with telling someone to gain their cooperation?</p><p>And amidst all the planning, the image of Tommy’s dead, broken eyes slowly fades from Quackity’s mind. </p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>Philza</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Phil doesn't quite remember what he was doing when the message showed up, but if asked, he could certainly recall the moments afterwards.</p><p>
  <em> TommyInnit was slain by Dream. </em>
</p><p><em> Now, that's quite the mistake to make, </em>is his first thought. And in his defense - though Phil would agree with neither much offense nor care that he doesn't deserve any - he had initially thought the mistake to be the message itself in the first place. </p><p>Because Tommy <em> dying </em> - well, that's just not a thing that happens. Phil can't quite wrap his head around a world where the child doesn't pop up around the various corners of the server to annoy the living hell out of whichever unfortunate soul is his target.</p><p>But he reads the message again, and then once more, eyes tracing every sharp angle the letters bend themselves by. </p><p>Surely they're wrong, Phil thinks to himself - despite how the messages, coded into the very fabric of the world, are never wrong. </p><p>
  <em> TommyInnit was slain by Dream. </em>
</p><p>He raises his wings, and charts course for the prison.</p><p> </p><p>"So he's dead.”</p><p>"Yes," Sam says, and the frustration is creeping into his voice now. But Phil is used to such mortal limits and pays it no mind.</p><p>"Are you absolutely sure?" he asks again. </p><p>Because <em> Tommy is dead </em> is not a phrase that should overlap with their reality anywhere near so soon. That’s not how - how any of this works. Phil would know, he has centuries conquered beneath him, wells of knowledge no mortal could ever hope to attain. </p><p>He has seen death, so many times. He <em> is </em> death, in a sense. But Tommy is - was - not supposed to face that side of him just yet.</p><p>"Philza," Sam says, low and trembling. "I will tell you this one more time. Tommy is <em> dead. </em> I dragged his bloody, beaten body from the cell myself. I checked for a pulse. I poured all the potions I had on him. <em> He's fucking dead." </em></p><p>And the words sink into Philza, finally. A cold layer of truth that pricks uncomfortably, unsettlingly at every part of him.</p><p>So Tommy is dead. Dream, who Phil and Techno had teamed up with to destroy Tommy's nation, had killed him. Beaten him to death as he begged for it to stop, if Phil has to imagine.</p><p>When he's in the nether portal, he begins to laugh. As the reddish hellscape of the dimension swirls into view, he continues to laugh. As a ghast spits a furious fireball in his direction, Phil snaps out his wings in a shower of rattling feathers, singing to the tune of death. And he laughs.</p><p>Tommy wasn't his son. He was never his son, not in the way Wilbur was. Wilbur loved Tommy, and so Phil had provided care, but Tommy was never a mortal under his jurisdiction.</p><p>When Wilbur died… well, as a being accustomed to death, Tommy had fallen out of Phil’s radar almost entirely, save for a few run-ins as a result of his ability to attract every sort of attention, whether good or bad. </p><p>So Phil isn’t… sad. No, that isn’t the case, it can’t be. Phil isn’t celebrating either, despite how horrified Wilbur would have been to hear said laughter at the news, the way his face twists with an expression of warped amusement.</p><p>...why was he laughing?</p><p>Phil stumbles against a wall of netherrack, lowering his wings. They’re itching, the sensation a curiously mild bother in the Nether heat. </p><p>Tommy wasn’t supposed to die. It’s not because of any grand, complex plan Phil had for the mortal - he’s not <em> Dream, </em>for prime’s sake, and it’s not out of any desperate love either. Phil’s not mortal, and yet he had already allowed himself to get too attached to Wilbur when they first met. Later, he had known better than to do the same with someone as volatile as Tommy.</p><p>It’s just… it doesn’t make any <em> sense. </em>Tommy wasn’t a hero, but he had overcome his antagonists. He had undergone… a character arc, Techno would say, or perhaps several.</p><p>Point was, Tommy had <em> won. </em> And he was getting better - toned down his shenanigans, began contributing with his hotel, tied up his loose ends. Visiting Dream was supposed to cut the final thread, if Phil remembered correctly. </p><p><em> And yet. </em> And yet, just as he was about to move one, he gets beaten to death by his abuser in such a… <em> casual </em>circumstance?</p><p>Die like a hero. Hm.</p><p>Phil closes his eyes and breaths out. It makes no sense, and yet the pieces fit. It makes all the sense in the world. The irony of it all - that’s the best explanation Phil can find for his hysterical reaction. Not that it needs any justification.</p><p>“This server is a fucking hellhole,” he says aloud. He’s said it before, but this time, the words resonate within something else inside of him.</p><p>Tommy is dead, and that is a fact. It is - tragic, if Phil has to describe it. But such is the way of life. </p><p>“Wilbur is dead, Tommy is dead, Techno is just… chilling,” he muses. </p><p>...what was he doing here, then?</p><p>Maybe it is time Phil returns to his own worlds, far away from petty wars and incomprehensible mortals. Ask Techno to come too, show his friend around creations that would never fall, unlike the beings that traipse around here. Ranboo might agree to join as well.</p><p>Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Chest finally stilling, Phil picks his way onto the path back to the tundra.</p><p>Thoughts of Tommy soon slip from his mind. If Phil willfully turns his head and tunes out all future discussion of the child - well, that’s a secret for only him to keep. </p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>Jack Manifold</b>
</p><p> </p><p>The child is dead. </p><p>The child is <em> fucking dead. </em></p><p>Jack reads the message again, eyes narrowing in on every word.</p><p>
  <em> TommyInnit was slain by Dream. </em>
</p><p>Never before has a sentence looked so beautiful. He laughs, because he can, because despite it all, despite everything Tommy has done - <em> Jack Manifold gets the last laugh. </em></p><p>It is a glorious day.</p><p>He steps outside the hotel, and is promptly doused in a shower of wailing rain. Thunder rumbles in the far off distance. </p><p>Alright, maybe not that glorious of a day. But <em> Tommy is dead. </em></p><p>That’s certainly a cause for celebration! He didn’t even have to do anything, all his plans rendered moot because the idiot got himself killed in the dumbest possible way. Beaten by the one person he had supposedly defeated. </p><p>And plus, the hotel most <em> definitely </em> belongs to him now. </p><p>Jack retreats back inside, grunting as he locks the doors shut against the slamming wind. </p><p>It <em> is </em> a pity on some level, he supposes. Tommy was <em> his </em> enemy, <em> his </em> arch-nemesis. Jack had wanted so badly to claim that last life.</p><p>But this works as well. After all, did it really matter how he died, as long as he did? Now the server could finally get some peace and quiet. No more stupid conflict or drama or death over some shiny black circles. </p><p>Niki might disagree, Jack thinks, falling back into the chair at the receptionist’s desk. She had wanted to be the one. To stab Tommy through the throat, watch his last words burble up and choke him in his own blood. But there is something wrong with Niki, in how she screams her convictions with a crazed expression too similar to Wilbur’s. </p><p>Oh well. With Tommy dead, none of those problems will be of concern anymore. </p><p>And honestly, Jack could say he is surprised - <em> will </em> say he is surprised when someone inevitably brings the situation up to him - but the reality is, he isn’t at all. What else were they fucking expecting, when someone as insufferablly stupid as Tommy gets trapped in a tiny obsidian box with a maniac like Dream? When Tommy was the one who spat in his face and (both metaphorically and literally) kicked him into the prison in the first place?</p><p>It had been a recipe for disaster from the start. There had been no way one of them <em> wouldn’t </em> kill the other, and given how much better Dream was at - well, <em> everything </em> than Tommy, the surprise should honestly be how long it took a death message to appear in the first place. </p><p>Tommy <em> chose </em> to always be a terrible excuse of the person, to always be the center of trouble, to <em> visit Dream in the first place. </em></p><p>He’s no hero, just a fool. </p><p>And this death, bloody, slow, and <em>oh so</em> <em>normal, </em>no speeches or last grand gestures, just him and his murderer, all alone - it’s <em>exactly</em> what he deserved. Jack couldn’t have written it better himself.</p><p>He glances out the window, at the rain that’s still pouring. Others would say some dumb poetic shit about the world crying for that child, but Jack knows better.</p><p>Well, time to take inventory of the hotel. Now that Tommy’s gone, he’s sure there’s more than enough supplies to scrape up a proper business. </p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>Foolish</b>
</p><p> </p><p>“Tommy is dead.”</p><p>Are they doing jokes now?</p><p>“Oh, that’s funny,” he laughs, but Jack doesn’t laugh with him.</p><p>That confirms they aren’t doing jokes.</p><p>“Wait - like, actually?” Foolish asks, despite the incredulity that rises up at the idea that <em> TommyInnit </em> could be <em> dead. </em></p><p>“Yeah,” Jack says. “He’s dead.” </p><p>He sounds oddly… flat, if Foolish has to describe it, especially considering the fact that they’re apparently talking about the death of the server’s resident child.</p><p>“But - how?” </p><p>Foolish runs through his pool of information, limited as it is. Tommy has no enemies as far as he knows, after Dream was locked up in prison. Tommy was visiting Dream, actually, and then there was talk of him getting trapped inside after some system malfunction?</p><p>“Dream killed him,” Jack says. “Beat him to death. Apparently there was a lot of blood.”</p><p>Well, that explains that.</p><p>“...damn,” Foolish says, because what else is one supposed to say in a situation like this?</p><p>“Yeah,” Jack murmurs. “Damn.”</p><p>Tommy was a lot of things, if Foolish remembers correctly, though most of what he’s heard is secondhand. He was a child, traumatized beyond repair by the circumstances handed to him under multiple abusers. He was a nuisance, that carelessly brought conflict to whatever situation he barged into. He was - well, he was complicated, is what Foolish has gathered. </p><p>It’s clear that, for better or worse, pretty much everyone else on the server (save perhaps Hannah) has…<em> strong </em> opinions of Tommy. Even the person chopping trees nearby, as much as he may wish to hide it. </p><p>Foolish supposes he’s lucky, in a sense. He hasn’t been around long enough to form connections on this server, but he’s been around for far too long to be affected by attachments. Could he claim to have an unbiased view?</p><p>Well, the view is that (generally) death isn’t good, right? Especially the death of a child. If there’s one thing Foolish knows for sure, it’s that Tommy definitely didn’t <em> deserve </em> an end like that. A dying, bloody pulp at the mercy of his abuser.</p><p>“Anyone said something about it?” Foolish asks. “Besides just, you know. The death itself.”</p><p>Jack shrugs.</p><p>“Dunno. Reaction’s been pretty silent - I don’t think anyone’s brought up the idea of a funeral, if that’s what you’re wondering.”</p><p>Huh. </p><p>As with most immortals, Foolish is more a being of structures than of mortals. But that’s not to say the two can’t overlap. He doesn't have any personal stake in Tommy, and thus in his death, but it makes for a compelling tale nonetheless. Something people will study for years to come. </p><p>That’s incentive for memorialization, for sure. A statue, perhaps, or at least a nice gravestone. Foolish taps the wood he’s holding, running through the possibilities. </p><p>Yeah, that would be a fun project. Tommy’s face is memorable, whether in outraged defiance or terrified misery, both great templates for a structure that would attract plenty of attention. Especially in… hm, maybe in front of the prison? Or L’Manberg’s crater, both of symbolic significance. To add to the narrative.  </p><p>So should it be made of sandstone or quartz? No, quartz is too smooth for an image like Tommy’s, though Foolish thinks he might be getting a bit tired of sandstone too. Perhaps andesite would work nicely...</p>
<hr/><p>
  <b>+1</b>
  <b></b>
</p><p><b><strike> Wilbur </strike></b> <strong>Ghostbur</strong></p><p>The first time he sees the message, he forgets immediately afterwards. Shoves his communicator deep into the hazy inventory of his being and resolves to never pull it out again.</p><p>Of course, he forgets that resolve just as quickly, and a few hours of gathering blue later Ghostbur pulls out the device for another check.</p><p>
  <em> TommyInnit was slain by Dream.  </em>
</p><p>Oh look, those sunflowers are pretty! Would Phil like some pretty sunflowers? Ghostbur looks away from the screen - a little slower this time - and floats over to the field of waving yellow with a smile soft as sunlight. </p><p>The next time, he is at the hotel. </p><p>“Why are you taking Tommy’s diamonds?” Ghostbur asks, tilting his head at Jack. The latter is spinning at the receptionist’s chair, juggling three shiny diamonds Ghostbur knows for sure belongs to Tommy. Because he had gifted them to his brother, and there’s faint smears of blue across their polished surfaces. </p><p>“They’re mine,” Jack says, like it answers everything.</p><p>“No, they’re not,” Ghostbur says patiently. “They’re Tommy’s.”</p><p>“Well, Tommy’s dead, and I was his employee, so everything in this hotel belongs to me.”</p><p>Tommy is de-</p><p>No, that’s wrong, that’s wrong, that’s not true and-</p><p>“That’s wrong,” Ghostbur says, caught back into the loop. His mind stutters for a horrible moment. Tommy is - wait, he’s what?</p><p>“Nah, the message is there. On everyone’s communicators. Learn to read.”</p><p>Slowly, with a reluctance he doesn’t know the source of (that’s a lie, he does, he’s just ignoring it at this point), he takes out the shiny black device and flicks on the screen. </p><p>
  <em> TommyInnit was slain by Dream. </em>
</p><p>Ghostbur blinks, and the communicator is gone, and he’s smiling again.</p><p>Everything is strained and pain digs needles into every misty wisp of his form. But he has too keep on a smile, because it’s nothing, there’s nothing wrong, he just has to pretend-</p><p>“See? Tommy's dead, says so right there.” Jack’s not even looking at him, still peering into the diamonds with a calculating expression. </p><p>“I think you must be mistaken,” Ghostbur says, tone so sweet even he knows something’s off, not to mention the way Jack tenses like he’s seen an entirely different spirit altogether.</p><p>But Ghostbur decides he’s done here. Jack’s just keeping Tommy’s diamonds safe for him, isn’t he? Until Tommy returns to the hotel? Yeah, that sounds about right.</p><p>Something deep within his mind nudges him, and the thought rises that he should talk to Tommy. The prison scares, and he has been told not to poke around - but surely his brother is getting lonely within those walls while vacationing with Dream. A little visit to cheer him up couldn’t hurt, could it? </p><p>Humming quietly, Ghostbur nods with what he likes to think is a dash of determination, and floats off.</p><p> </p><p>“Why can’t I go in?” Ghostbur asks, tilting his head. </p><p>“No one can, he’s behind all that lava for a reason,” Sam says. Everything about him is tense, from his voice to the way he grips the book in his hands far too tightly. <em> Contract, </em> part of the title says.</p><p>“Oh, don’t worry about me!” Ghostbur brightens, choosing not to dwell on any of it. “The lava doesn’t hurt me like rain does, so I can just float right through. I think Tommy would like the company, since-”</p><p>His voice drops to a whisper as he nudges Sam. “Don’t tell anyone, but I don’t think Tommy and Dream are friends.”</p><p>“So I can be his friend there!” he finishes louder, filling the room with his echoes. </p><p>“Ghostbur, he’s not-” Sam breaks off, like a spiderweb constricted his voice to nothing. Internally, Ghostbur frowns - he doesn’t quite like the comparison at all. Why did he think of it?</p><p>“Not what?” he asks. </p><p>“Tommy’s dead.”</p><p>Ghostbur sighs, ignoring how hard it is to push the sound through.</p><p>“No, he’s not.”</p><p>“Yes, he is.”</p><p>Sam turns around and stalks through an iron door in the corner of the room. He’s gone for so long Ghostbur wonders if the conversation is done.</p><p>And then he comes back, dragging something mottled pale and dark behind him.</p><p>Matted blond hair. Red painted all over, ranging from bright crimson to the color of dull brick. The shape of a purple hand on ashen cheeks, the occasional bit of bone white around the head.</p><p>“What is that?” Ghostbur asks.</p><p>Sam makes another choked, broken sound, and turns away again. He crumples onto the floor in a series of shudders.</p><p>“That’s Tommy’s body,” he whispers, so soft Ghostbur almost misses it.</p><p>Almost.</p><p>But that - it couldn’t possibly be Tommy. Because Tommy is alive, in that island of a prison cell amidst the lava, and probably feeling lonely. Ghostbur doesn’t want his brother to be lonely, so he will be visiting him soon!</p><p>“So that’s not Tommy,” he says, loud. And then again, louder.</p><p>“It’s Tommy, Ghostbur,” Sam says. He sounds so defeated. But why? Haven’t they won?</p><p>“Don’t be so sad, Sam!” Ghostbur tries. “Have some blue!”</p><p>He offers the substance, eyes resting on Sam’s shaking shoulders and <em> not </em> the strange thing that Sam has dragged out with him. </p><p>“The blue can’t bring back Tommy,” Sam gasps. “I don’t want it.”</p><p>“But Tommy’s-”</p><p>“TOMMY IS DEAD!”</p><p>Sam suddenly snarls, whipping back to him. Silvery tears stream down his face, sharp creeper nails digging into the palm of skin so harshly that equally silvery blood is pouring down as well.</p><p>“But…” Ghostbur’s hand falls down, along with the blue. He watches in silence as Sam slumps once again, and limps over to the nether portal. He disappears without a further word.</p><p>Something dark is pressing against his mind. Ghostbur’s eyes fall, landing back onto - onto...</p><p>
  <em> Tommy’s dead. </em>
</p><p>Red blood and purple bruises and the glinting paleness of bone-</p><p>He slams his eyelids down, letting the heat wash over him. But an image pries into his mind, crashing through every barrier despite his desperate pleas-</p><p>
  <em> TommyInnit was slain by Dream. </em>
</p><p>No, that’s not true, it can’t be, Tommy’s fine-</p><p>
  <em> TommyInnit was slain by Dream. </em>
</p><p>But they won! Dream is in the prison because he hurt people, but he’s harmless now, and Tommy’s going to yell across the lava to demand company any second-</p><p>
  <em> TommyInnit was slain by Dream. </em>
</p><p>He’s choking, something rising up to claw in nonexistent throat, a voice echoing the mantra again and again, bouncing through the empty chasms of his mind. </p><p> </p><p><em> TommyInnit was slain by Dream, </em>that voice whispers, almost snarling in its quiet.</p><p> </p><p>No.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> TommyInnit was slain by Dream. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>But Dream was defeated. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> TommyInnit was slain by Dream. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tommy’s fine, he has to be.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> TommyInnit was slain by Dream. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>That’s not the ending the hero is supposed to receive. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> TommyInnit was slain by Dream. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>That’s not how the story goes. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> TommyInnit was slain but Dream. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>That’s not possible. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> TommyInnit was slain by Dream. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>That’s not possible, that’s not possible thats not possiblethatsnotpossiblenotpossiblenotpossible<em> notpossible- </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> TommyInnit is dead. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ghostbur <b> <em>screamed.</em> </b></p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em> Dream was shot by WilburSoot using Chekhov's Gun. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The space of death is warping.</p><p>"What's that?" Tommy's gaze snaps back up to Wilbur. </p><p>The daze clears from Wilbur's mind, and he smiles back down in response. Waves a hand at the endless void around them.</p><p>"Death is preparing for a new soul to join," he says, and Tommy's eyes widen. </p><p>"But who-"</p><p>Wilbur stands up. Marches over to the rippling space that folds into itself with anticipation. </p><p>Without a sound, a mess of green tumbles onto the cold, unbreakable ground. </p><p>"Hello Dream," Wilbur purrs. For a moment he sees true terror in those swirling green eyes, with no light left to shimmer to. </p><p>"Tommy, remember how I said death is the ultimate equalizer?" He shifts a sleeve back, arching long-atrophied muscles without problem. Anything, for his brother.</p><p>"Well, this homeless green fucker right here is about to learn why."</p><p>---</p><p>Tubbo, Ranboo, and Sam aren't included because Tubbo and Ranboo are still in denial, so they're not over it, and I'll give Sam the benefit of the doubt. FOR NOW.</p><p>As always, comments, kudos, ect. motivate me a lot! Always no pressure, but if you want to then please go ahead!</p><p>I stream replying to comments, as well as discussing the Dream SMP, fanfiction, and whatever topics that come up (including questions) on Sundays 5pm EST! Follow my Twitch here: <a href="https://www.twitch.tv/interjection_">https://www.twitch.tv/interjection_</a> If you don't want your comment replied to on stream then type /whisper or mention it some other way, and I'll respond privately.</p><p>I just made a Twitter! The is the first fic I’ve announced this one. Please interact, I am so lonely and our current circumstances haven’t helped. <a href="https://twitter.com/lnterjection">https://twitter.com/lnterjection</a><br/>(lnterjection is spelled with a lowercase L, not I)</p><p>Oh and I have a Tumblr just because, do whatever with this info: <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lnterjection">https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lnterjection</a><br/>(lnterjection is spelled with a lowercase L, not I)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>